The Imperium has something of a contradictory relationship with its Hives.
On the one hand, the Hive is the ultimate symbol of civilization. Indeed, the word civilization itself comes from an ancient word for 'city', and hives are the ultimate cities. The ultimate expression of man's triumph over nature. Defended like nearly nothing else, cosseted behind meter-thick adamantium walls, void shields fit for a battleship, anti-orbital weapon silos also fit for a battleship, PDF forces numbering in the tens of millions. Often nearly autarkic, immense farm-terraces, fusion reactors good for thousands of years, mines stretching out like roots clear down to the mantle. The Imperium in microcosm, enduring and ferociously spiky.
At the same time, they are also among the most ungovernable places in the Imperium. The actual architecture of a hive stops bearing any resemblance to the blueprints within decades. The population escapes any census. A hive is larger than nations; many of them are, in fact, divided into multiple independent states. Even a well-ordered and centralized hive may have dozens of microstates hidden away in the wainscoting. Many poorly-educated people in the depths of the hives never realize that there is anything more to the universe than one giant, endless hive.
Many, many, many people have remarked on this apparent dichotomy, that the greatest symbols of its might are often also where its control is weakest. Sometimes the Emperor has commented on this, and declared that there is no dichotomy. The Imperium does not depend on centralized control. It is the collective dream of its citizens, of collective security, of collective prosperity, of collective defiance of a universe that wishes them dead. The hives do not need censuses and blueprints to be part of the Imperium. They pay their tithes and send their children to die on distant battlefields without such things.
On the one hand, the Hive is the ultimate symbol of civilization. Indeed, the word civilization itself comes from an ancient word for 'city', and hives are the ultimate cities. The ultimate expression of man's triumph over nature. Defended like nearly nothing else, cosseted behind meter-thick adamantium walls, void shields fit for a battleship, anti-orbital weapon silos also fit for a battleship, PDF forces numbering in the tens of millions. Often nearly autarkic, immense farm-terraces, fusion reactors good for thousands of years, mines stretching out like roots clear down to the mantle. The Imperium in microcosm, enduring and ferociously spiky.
At the same time, they are also among the most ungovernable places in the Imperium. The actual architecture of a hive stops bearing any resemblance to the blueprints within decades. The population escapes any census. A hive is larger than nations; many of them are, in fact, divided into multiple independent states. Even a well-ordered and centralized hive may have dozens of microstates hidden away in the wainscoting. Many poorly-educated people in the depths of the hives never realize that there is anything more to the universe than one giant, endless hive.
Many, many, many people have remarked on this apparent dichotomy, that the greatest symbols of its might are often also where its control is weakest. Sometimes the Emperor has commented on this, and declared that there is no dichotomy. The Imperium does not depend on centralized control. It is the collective dream of its citizens, of collective security, of collective prosperity, of collective defiance of a universe that wishes them dead. The hives do not need censuses and blueprints to be part of the Imperium. They pay their tithes and send their children to die on distant battlefields without such things.
